


like blood magic

by skittidyne



Series: political intrigue [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Face-Fucking, M/M, Political Intrigue AU, Possessive Behavior, Sex Magic, Smut, kuroken sinweek, major spoilers for chapter 8, minor spoilers for chapter 17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 00:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10819818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/pseuds/skittidyne
Summary: “Humans are so fragile,” Kenma says as he cups Tetsurou’s jaw. “I look at you every day and fear you could break.”“It’ll take more than a little magic to break me.”“I want to do far more to you than share a sliver of magic.”(( or: the improper use of magic one ))





	like blood magic

**Author's Note:**

> (( i couldn't do all of [sinweek](https://kurokensinweek.tumblr.com/), but by god, i'm glad i could at least throw _something_ into the ether. this is a side story to [blood will have blood](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9664034/chapters/21831365), but could be read on its own inasmuch as it's kuroken fuckin'. hope everyone enjoys! ))

Tetsurou is aware of the mounting tension between Kenma and Koutarou. He’s not stupid, nor blind, and in fact is quite the opposite of those. He’s been walking a razor’s edge the past few weeks as it is, playing nice with everyone and struggling not to have favorites. Daichi needs him not to alienate either witch. (Daichi also needs him in one piece.)

Still, no one’s perfect, and it’s only a matter of time before Tetsurou messed up.

He hadn’t even anticipated this one.

His afternoon had been spent helping both Daichi and Koutarou pack for their trip; it still stings that he’s been forbidden from accompanying his Prince, but with things as they are, no one can afford to piss off the King any further. Tetsurou and Asahi must remain behind and do their best to behave. No one knows how the King will act without the Prince around, or if he’ll make any move regarding Kenma. They must be wary, on guard, and sharp as hell.

Tetsurou, apparently, is none of these things when he meets with Kenma later that evening.

There is no scheduled meeting; Tetsurou simply wonders sometimes at Kenma’s eating habits and tries his best to bend them to something resembling in-line with humans. He’s still in his formal uniform from saying his goodbyes, and he’s bolstering his own mood through sheer willpower. He’s hoping seeing Kenma will help this further.

But Kenma takes one look at him, gifts of food and proper appearance and forced smile, and narrows his eyes. “Where have you been?”

“Saying goodbye to our Prince. I take it you’ve been avoiding the King?”

Tetsurou sets down the platter of semi-stolen tarts onto the desk Kenma is hunched over. He doesn’t notice, at first, the way Kenma recoils from him and the food both. He does, however, notice the way Kenma wrinkles his nose. It’s cute, like most of his expressions. Disarmingly cute. Tetsurou wonders how much of it is on purpose.

“You smell like him,” Kenma _accuses_. His voice is sharper than the sword at Tetsurou’s hip.

Tetsurou resists his first instinct—to sniff his own clothes—as well as his second—to wonder who the hell he’s even talking about. But who else does Kenma ever get prickly about in private? “Kou went with Daichi and his envoy. I said goodbye to _them all_ , yes.”

Without warning, Kenma leans forward and smushes his face into Tetsurou’s collar. He starts, hands coming up to brace Kenma’s shoulders, but freezes moments before touching him. Kenma shifts, and his lips move against the strip of skin between Tetsurou’s collar and his jaw; he’s _very_ aware of how close that puts Kenma’s teeth to his throat. “You smell like Koutarou. Strongly.”

“We hugged goodbye. That’s nothing new, Kenma, we’re friends.”

“You didn’t have to rub all over him like a cat in heat.”

“Like a—?! _Kenma_ , it was a hug! I hugged Daichi, too, wished them all safe journeys. I won’t get to see any of them for weeks now, and we won’t have news of what happens until there are official announcements. I’m allowed to see them off for something this important,” Tetsurou exclaims, and finally grasps Kenma’s shoulders to pull him away.

Kenma doesn’t seem annoyed, not by the movement, but his eyes still blaze and his mouth twists into an ugly pout. “He’s gone, and you still smell like him. He did it on purpose.”

It’s better than this ire being directed at him, but Tetsurou is still exasperated by the possessive streak. He’s had years to get used to it from Koutarou; even then, it’s dispersed between Tetsurou and Daichi, and he’s never had an obvious rival before. For all of his petulance now, it’s a miracle Kenma’s acting kept up as long as it did.

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Tetsurou tells him, as evenly as he can.

“He did so,” Kenma replies at once.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“He thinks you’re his, just because he’s known you longer, but you’re _not_.” Tetsurou knows what Kenma will say next, but his breath still catches at the blunt, “You’re _mine_.”

Tetsurou wishes he could tell them he’s not a piece of meat for them to fight over like starved dogs. He doesn’t want the metaphor to inspire any more biting, that’s for sure, but he also isn’t certain just _how_ far witches would take this. Tetsurou hadn’t known about Kenma when he’d first caught his eye, and he’s had time to relax into a friendship with Koutarou.

He’s never been dunked into something like he has been with Kenma. There’s no bracing for witches.

Hoping to placate him, Tetsurou leans down to place a kiss against Kenma’s forehead. Kenma’s frown relaxes, just a hair. “I brought you food, because I care for _you_ , Kenma. Have you eaten today?”

Kenma dodges the question with none of his usual finesse, and instead tells him, “You don’t look good in white.”

Tetsurou laughs and picks up a tart. “I have some terrible news for you then, Kenma.”

“White is a poor color, anyway. It doesn’t hide stains,” Kenma says, and sighs, probably because he’s been forced to do all kinds of menial tasks in the palace in the past.

“Stop thinking of laundry, and here.” Tetsurou takes a bite of the apple tart, does his best not to leave crumbs all over his nice crisp uniform, and leans forward to offer his mouth to Kenma.

Kenma stares at him like he’s something that crawled out of a sewer.

Tetsurou pulls back with his own pout. He chews and swallows, then takes another bite, trying again. Kenma actually leans away from him this time. “You’re disgusting.”

“It’s not like I’m chewing it for you! Though that’s not that bad, either, if you need it.”

“Why would anyone need _that_?” Kenma asks, horrified.

Tetsurou awkwardly chuckles around his food. “I mean, if someone is sick or weak, you gotta take care of them. I had to do it for my little brother a couple times when we were young.”

“I’m not weak,” Kenma flatly replies, “or sick. I don’t appreciate it. I’d appreciate it more if you didn’t visit me to rub your closeness with Koutarou in my face.”

Tetsurou is going to smother him with one of these tarts, he swears. “Bringing and sharing food with one another is a sign of caring for someone,” he grits out, as evenly as he can. Kenma cocks his head, too steep, _exactly_ like Koutarou does.

“I can get food whenever I want.”

He disappears for a moment, and Tetsurou sighs into the empty room. When Kenma reappears, he has a plate of what appears to be someone’s ingredients; it’s full of chopped vegetables and cubes of raw meat. Kenma shows it to him, not as an offer to share, but as an example.

“Go put that back, please,” Tetsurou sighs again. “Daichi gets huffy if you mess with the cooks.”

“The Prince isn’t here,” Kenma responds, but he takes the food back. When he returns, however, he has a celery stick in his mouth. He looks rather proud of himself. “See, ‘m eating,” he says around it.

Tetsurou leans down enough to bite off the proffered end of the celery with a grin. “And see, sharing food is a sign of caring.”

Kenma looks offended, then suspicious, then shoves the rest of the celery at Tetsurou.

Tetsurou laughs, and though it’s far from his favorite vegetable, he makes a show of eating it. _This_ is the Kenma he likes, the one he wants to spend time with and get to know better. “Well, thank you, little witch. I knew you cared beneath all those layers of jealousy.”

“ _Rightfully_ jealous,” Kenma is quick to correct.

“Not truly.”

“You’ve fucked Koutarou,” Kenma points out, with a surly hunch to his shoulders and bitterness dripping from his voice. “And he still claims you as his.”

Tetsurou blinks down at him, off guard. It takes him perhaps a little too long to form a cohesive response to that. “Um… no, I haven’t, Kenma. Koutarou and I have never been intimate with each other.” Judging by the fact that Kenma had been unaware of that, Tetsurou wonders what else he’s unaware of with the current royal dynamics. He doesn’t think it’s his place to share this information, however, though he wants to inform Daichi.

Kenma stares up at him.

It’s rare to see him genuinely shocked, much less openly expressing any manner of emotion while fully facing someone. There’s something incredibly unguarded about this moment, and Tetsurou studies the brightness of Kenma’s eyes, the slight parting of his lips, and the round features softened further with surprise.

It is with a grip like iron that Kenma pulls him down to crush their lips together.

This manner of affection is still fresh with them, and Tetsurou still struggles with the power of the witch as well. He nearly unbalances, but Kenma catches him effortlessly and moves his mouth against Tetsurou’s, trying to coax him into reciprocation.

Not that Tetsurou needs much coaxing, but surprise dulls his reflexes.

The way Kenma kisses is a stark contrast to his docile appearance; he kisses like this is an assault on foreign territory and he’s determined to win the onslaught. Tetsurou is easily swept away by his pace. He hardly notices that Kenma is still tugging him down, past his level, down to his knees, so he’s kneeling before Kenma, seated on his chair.

He gasps against his mouth at the press of teeth. Kenma is not cruel—never cruel—but he is firm and maintains control of the kiss. He tastes only faintly of celery, but more of something deep and musky and spicy, something that makes Tetsurou’s tongue tingle. He wonders if this is what magic tastes of.

Heat already prickles against his skin and down his nerves. Kenma releases Tetsurou’s collar and rakes his fingers up through the thick hair on the back of Tetsurou’s head, then grabs a fistful. He angles Tetsurou’s head as he pleases, in order to better lick into his mouth.

Tetsurou’s fingertips are going numb, staticky and twitching, and his cock begins to stir in his pants. Kenma has hardly _touched_ him. Kenma tilts Tetsurou’s head again, this time to trail wet kisses across his cheek and down his jaw. By the time he makes it to his neck, they’re more licks than kisses; Kenma laves his tongue against the thin, delicate skin of Tetsurou’s neck and he doesn’t even process the proximity of teeth toward his throat this time around.

“Will you be mine?” Kenma murmurs against him. His voice is deep and rough and it’s hardly a question proper.

Tetsurou flexes his fingers against Kenma’s shoulders. Addled as he is, he _knows_ not to voice the traitorous thought of _I could have been doing this with Koutarou for the past few years?_ His tongue feels thick in his mouth when he responds, “Yes, Kenma, _yes_ , but…”

But what? Tetsurou can’t exactly pinpoint his hesitation here. The body is certainly willing. …Strangely so. He may _look_ like he belongs in a brothel, but Tetsurou is usually not so easy to rile.

Kenma pulls back and Tetsurou gets lost in his eyes as he examines him. “Ah,” Kenma mumbles, and the haze over his mind leaves like a candle snuffed out. His skin still prickles, but now it’s like feeling coming back into deadened limbs, and Tetsurou squirms uncomfortably, panting. It’s suddenly far more difficult to breathe. “You’re fine, just breathe for me.”

“What was that?” Tetsurou asks between heaving breaths.

“Magic,” Kenma replies. It takes a long beat for Tetsurou to realize he’s not going to elaborate, and he groans. He pitches forward and Kenma does not catch him; he finds himself resting against Kenma’s lap, heart pounding and body still thrumming with leftover energy. It makes him restless, and restlessness has always made him needy. “You’re alright,” Kenma adds softly, and combs his fingers through Tetsurou’s hair, gently this time. “I’m… sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“Apologies are so rare from you,” Tetsurou chuckles. He twists enough so he can glance up out of the corner of his eye at Kenma, who leans over him, hair falling around them both like a dark curtain.

“Humans are so fragile,” Kenma says as he cups Tetsurou’s jaw. “I look at you every day and fear you could break.”

“It’ll take more than a little magic to break me.”

“I want to do far more to you than share a sliver of magic.”

Tetsurou finds it suddenly difficult to breathe again. Kenma rubs soothing circles against his scalp, tugging so lightly on his hair, and stares down at Tetsurou like he’s something infinitely precious, infinitely fascinating. Tetsurou swallows, and wonders how he can approach this. A mere kiss had nearly undone him, but he must stay on Kenma’s good side, both for Daichi’s sake and because his own heart yearns for these tiny, gentle moments between them.

And, he can’t deny that he’s drawn to this power.

“You like the idea of marking me with your magic, don’t you?” Tetsurou asks. His voice remains unusually breathy.

Kenma’s hand tightens in his hair. “Yes,” he replies, frank as ever. “Then you’ll smell like me.”

“Kou’s not even _here_ , Kenma. No one will notice.” Well, there is the third witch, and Kenma’s eyes skate away from his as he undoubtedly has the same thought. Tetsurou cannot handle becoming a territory war between _three_ witches, and he lets out a weak laugh. “Alright, mark me as your own, if it’ll make you happy.”

“It would make me _very_ happy.” Kenma coaxes him upright again, movements soft and adoring, until he binds Tetsurou’s wrists behind him with a flick of his fingers. Tetsurou freezes, testing the magic reflexively, and Kenma stands, forcing Tetsurou back onto his heels. “I’m going to make you feel good, but you’re not used to magic, so I need you to trust me.”

Tetsurou isn’t certain he has a choice in the matter.

Kenma frowns, and for a brief, terror-filled moment, Tetsurou wonders if he could glean the thoughts from his mind. “This could be accomplished by sleeping together in my bed, too,” he offers. “…Multiple nights.”

“That’s a little too teasing, don’t you think?” Tetsurou asks with a pleading tilt of his head. “Alright, I have some reservations, but I’m not afraid of you, Kenma. I’m not afraid of witches and their strange magics. Not that afraid, at least.”

“Do you want to be?” Kenma asks quietly.

“Uh, no, I like _liking_ my sex partners.”

“Most humans who seek out witches want thrills and fear. They want to be undone and left a trembling heap afterward.”

“Can we do that… without the fear bit?” Tetsurou asks hopefully. He tests the unseen binding, and yet again there’s no give to any of it. “I sought you out initially without knowing you were a witch. I just liked you as a person.”

Kenma blinks, uncharacteristically surprised again, though the moment passes swiftly. He brushes Tetsurou’s bangs back out of his face, and keeps his hand in his hair. “You’re so charming when you don’t mean to be,” Kenma says, and his cheeks are _pink_. A thrill shoots through him unrelated to the binding and the magic tingling against his skin.

“I’d love to be charming for you,” Tetsurou eagerly offers. He leans up, as much as he can, but Kenma pushes him back down with inhuman strength so he’s sitting on his heels again.

“Then close your eyes.” Kenma covers his eyes, though Tetsurou willingly obeys. The skin contact between them feels abnormally warm, and the staticky feeling from before is returning as well. He knows it’s not his legs falling asleep.

Heat drips down his spine and pools in his belly, and despite _knowing_ he’s not moving, he feels the room sway around him. Kenma’s hand on his head is grounding, but vertigo kicks at him, and he leans into the touch further. Kenma combs through his hair, and Tetsurou keeps his eyes closed, though he can see spots of color dancing against his eyelids.

His pants are beginning to feel tight. Kenma still hasn’t touched him below the neck.

Without warning, Tetsurou’s head is yanked back by the hair and his gasp is swallowed up by Kenma’s hungry mouth. Their tongues clash and Kenma’s sharp teeth catch at his bottom lip. The pain does not ground him, as expected, but instead Tetsurou falls deeper into the sensation.

His eyes flutter open without meaning to. Kenma is staring at him, clear and calculating, even during the kiss. Tetsurou groans against him. He groans again, louder and edging into a whine, when Kenma sucks on his tongue; the feeling shoots straight to his cock and his pants are _certainly_ too tight now.

He doesn’t have the words to ask for Kenma to touch him. Kenma pulls from his mouth, this time trailing nipping kisses along his jaw. Tetsurou is sweating in his uniform and he’s squirming against Kenma’s hand in his hair and the magic holding him.

Kenma pulls back and licks his lips. Tetsurou stares at him, at the swirling gold of his eyes, and pitches forward again. It is only the binding that keeps him upright.

A whine builds in his throat when Kenma releases him entirely. His breathing is rapid and shallow, but he doesn’t grow dizzy from it, or at least not any dizzier than the magic is already making him. The room rocks with the same motions Tetsurou struggles to follow with his hips. “Ken… Kenma,” he forces out through the haze.

“Shh, you’re being too loud,” Kenma says. His whisper caresses Tetsurou and he shudders again.

Kenma unbuttons and pulls off his shirt, and Tetsurou tracks the movement as well as he’s able. Kenma’s skin is flawless, unmarred by scars or blemishes or any lines due to age. Tetsurou wants to taste him again, taste any inch of him offered. Though it’s little surprise considering their positioning, and nothing Tetsurou is unused to, he is pleased and gratified when Kenma moves to pull down his breeches.

Tetsurou is still fully dressed—in full state uniform, no less—and Kenma makes no move to rectify this. Tetsurou doesn’t mind for the moment, aside from the confinement of his pants. He squirms again, but his full attention is on Kenma’s cock as it is bared to him.

He’s not fully hard yet, but he’s certainly not uninterested, and Tetsurou obediently opens his mouth when Kenma steps closer. Kenma’s lips quirks into a little half-smile, and that seems to be a reward unto itself; pleasure once again shoots through Tetsurou, unbidden, and he cannot bite back his moan with his mouth hanging open.

He doesn’t even understand how this is happening. Kenma isn’t even _touching_ him, but his body throbs, and his cock twitches and strains against the fabric restraining him. He fears he’ll see a growing wet spot if he were to look downward.

Tetsurou groans again when Kenma rakes his hand back through his hair once more. He’s exceedingly gentle when he guides Tetsurou’s mouth to his cock, but his touch is like fire regardless.

Tetsurou laps at him, just to be coy, but he’s surprised at the bolt of arousal that strikes him. It’s not mimicking the sensation of a tongue against him, or truly any sensation at all, but instead it’s simply pleasure in its rawest form. Tetsurou squirms again against Kenma’s magic. His body is unsure if it wants this kind of stimulation, yet his mind sinks deeper into a haze of _yes_.

Tetsurou’s breath puffs out hot against Kenma’s cock, but the witch doesn’t display any impatience, nor voice any further concern or reassurance. His fingers rub against Tetsurou’s scalp and it drips further static down the back of his neck.

When he takes Kenma back into his mouth, he’s better prepared this time.

Yet when Tetsurou looks up at Kenma with fluttering lashes and a need for approval singing through his veins, he finds Kenma smiling down at him, and his heart is certainly not prepared for that.

Tetsurou squeezes his eyes shut and ignores the slick feeling in his pants; instead, he concentrates on the weight of Kenma on his tongue. He is hot and growing harder in his mouth. Tetsurou bobs his head a few times, pulling suction along his length, and he earns his first sound. A soft, nearly mute sigh drips from Kenma’s lips and Tetsurou’s insides quiver with the noise.

This is going to be a lot. Static and fuzz tingle along his skin, and he rocks his hips up into nothing, straining against his clothing and wishing for friction past that. Kenma’s hand tightens in his hair—a signal, to warn him that Kenma will be taking back control of the pace, and Tetsurou blearily opens his eyes again.

He pulls off, the head of Kenma’s cock resting against his bottom lip, but he has no words for him. Tetsurou swallows, and Kenma continues staring down at him with a heartrendingly tender expression.

It’s a stark contrast to the way Kenma’s hands fist _hard_ in his hair and he shoves his cock down Tetsurou’s throat. Tetsurou’s gasp is cut off, and he swallows again, this time just trying to work around the suddenness of the movement. Kenma does not give him time to adjust, but thrusts in and out of his mouth with a brutal pace. It takes him less time to get used to keeping his jaw relaxed and throat open than it does to figure out how to time his gasping breaths.

Kenma does not taste like any man Tetsurou has ever done this for, but instead of something strikingly clean and decidedly _magic_. His tongue and throat burn like he’s gulped down too much alcohol. The heat spreads through him with each thrust, and it only gradually pools deep in his belly, making his entire body thrum with unspent energy. He pulls against his bindings again, and the lack of movement makes some _other_ kind of thrill shoot through him.

“Ohh,” Kenma pants, not quite a groan but more than a sigh, “you’re so _good_ , Tetsurou.”

Tetsurou moans, loud and long and muffled by the cock stuffed in his mouth; there is no magic in his words, not like he can feel with everything else Kenma does, but they affect him almost as strongly.

Kenma’s golden eyes glitter and he continues talking. “You look so good, on your knees for me like this. I rarely find humans as attractive as you, but you’re a special gift.” This time, Tetsurou feels the magic, and he screws his eyes shut and nearly shouts against Kenma.

The witch takes the opportunity to shove himself deep in Tetsurou’s throat and hold himself there. Eyes prickling, body demanding friction and even release without it, Tetsurou swallows frantically around him. His nose is pressed against Kenma’s coarse, dark hair, forehead against his belly, Kenma’s hands still fisted _so tight_ in his hair.

When Kenma pulls Tetsurou off his cock, Tetsurou takes deep, gasping breaths that sound more like sobs than anything else. His eyes feel traitorously wet. Kenma rightfully does not pity him for it, but gives him a mere moment to breathe before he pushes Tetsurou back down.

“You’re doing so well,” Kenma says, voice completely even, almost unaffected. Tetsurou finds that nearly as arousing as his words, and vows to examine that _later_ , after his mind is less hazy with pleasure. He does not hold Tetsurou’s head down this time, but keeps him moving at a steadily quicker pace.

Every one of Tetsurou’s nerves feel like they’re on fire, and his clothing sticks to himself with sweat. He feels confined, by more than just unseen restraints. His body climbs toward its peak, with no stimulation of his own, only this feedback loop of what he’s doing for Kenma.

Tetsurou could get addicted to this.

His thighs burn both from the wild effects of the magic as well as from his straining against it. His own arousal throbs along with the hammering of his heart in his ribs.

Kenma releases his hair without warning, and Tetsurou makes a strangled sound deep in his chest, though Kenma’s hands never leave him. He cups his face, not gently, but with firm fingers hooked around his jaws and ears to move him. Tetsurou cracks open one eye, vision hazy with tears and too many sensations, and Kenma brushes away some of the moisture with a thumb.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Kenma tells him with little inflection. The coil within Tetsurou’s belly tightens, hot and needing. Needing just a _little more_ —or anything at all, really, anything Kenma would give him— “You’re beautiful, and you’re _mine_ , Tetsurou.”

Kenma forces him all the way down on his length, and Tetsurou comes in his pants with a muffled sound. He can’t _breathe_ , not with Kenma occupying all of his mouth and throat, and he swallows frantically in a vain bid for air. Tetsurou bucks against his bonds, groans and cries against Kenma, cherishes the stars and spots in his vision.

Kenma pulls him off and the air back in his lungs nearly seems to prolong the orgasm. Tetsurou shudders and this time, his low, hoarse moan isn’t muffled. Kenma holds him upright and doesn’t appear to notice how wrecked he is.

Kenma keeps Tetsurou still with one hand cupped on the back of his head; his other jacks himself, and in moments, he’s coming in white streaks over Tetsurou’s face and open mouth. Only belatedly, sluggishly, does Tetsurou try to catch any in his mouth just to save himself the mess.

He blinks, slowly, and finds Kenma kneeling in front of him. Tetsurou’s arms dangle at his sides, freed, but indescribably heavy.

Tetsurou catches his breath, and Kenma studies him with those sharp, inhuman eyes. Tetsurou is afraid of breaking this fragile moment, and he doesn’t trust himself to have the presence of mind to _not_ say something foolish. His body still trembles from the stubborn dredges of his orgasm.

Kenma reaches out, uncharacteristically tentative, but Tetsurou meets him halfway by tipping his head forward. Kenma’s finger swipes through the mess on Tetsurou’s cheek, but soon, he’s smearing it all over the pads of his fingers and thumb, with something like wonder sparking in his eyes.

“Happy now?” Tetsurou asks and Kenma draws away at once, expression shuttering. “No, I meant—you, uh, was that alright? F-For you?”

“Why are you trying to reassure me?” Kenma asks accusingly.

“I, uh. I don’t know.” Tetsurou shivers again and manages to force his arms into movement. He reaches out for Kenma, and he’s unexpectedly gratified by the fact that Kenma does not shy from him. Kenma comes into his open arms, and Tetsurou wraps himself around him, seeking out the skinship and warmth.

Not that much skin contact, however, and he shudders again in a decidedly less pleasant way at the feeling of his pants sticking to him.

“You smell like me now,” Kenma says against the crook of his neck. He sounds _horribly_ smug.

“Congratulations, little witch.”

“I don’t know how to progress from here,” he admits, voice still a little muffled (and less smug now), “since most humans don’t like to touch me afterward. But you seem very content to hold me, and I don’t know if that’s the aftereffects of magical influence or—”

“ _Yes_ ,” Tetsurou interrupts, huffing a laugh against Kenma’s dark hair, “I want to hold you. It would be better if we were in a bed, but—”

With a sudden rush of vertigo (far less pleasant than before), Tetsurou finds himself not in the little study Kenma had holed himself up in, but a small, musty room with a bed and a high window. He startles, both from the jarring location change, and the surprise that he’s actually seeing Kenma’s chambers.

It takes some awkward jostling, but Kenma manages to pick Tetsurou up and deposit him gently on the bed.

Kenma stares down at him, expectant.

“I’m still a mess.”

“I told you white was bad,” Kenma murmurs, but he’s smug again.

Tetsurou wonders how much of this had been premeditated.

He sighs, chalks it up as another defeat at the hands of a witch, and makes to wipe his face off with his shirt. Kenma stops him with an iron grip on his wrist, however. “Let me,” he says, and Tetsurou gladly lets him, anticipating a quick cleanup, or maybe more magic, or at the very least, Kenma’s hands back on his body.

He gets none of this.

Instead, Kenma, straddling his thighs as they lay on the bed, leans down and _licks_ up a smear of seed from Tetsurou’s cheek. Kenma calmly drags his tongue over Tetsurou’s skin, but he’s not like a cat cleaning itself; it’s very clear he’s _savoring_ this. He licks across one side of Tetsurou’s face, down to his jaw, and laps at the sweat on his neck as well.

Tetsurou cannot help the interest his body suddenly has in this action. “Ah, Kenma…?” He isn’t certain what he’s asking, other than he’s _never_ had a liaison with someone that ended with _more_ licking. He isn’t certain how to progress, either.

“You smell like me,” Kenma repeats.

“Yes, I gathered that. You like yourself that much?”

“I like _you_ that much,” he petulantly replies, and Tetsurou’s face goes hot. He half-wishes he could hide from the man atop him. “Why are you becoming shy _now_? You’ve had more embarrassing things to say yourself, you know.”

“It’s different if I say it!” And that’s not to say he _doesn’t_ get embarrassed by himself, either.

“Not really.”

“Is too.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Kenma bites down on his neck to halt the argument, and Tetsurou jerks beneath him. He laves his tongue after the sore spot—Tetsurou _felt_ how sharp those teeth are, he worries about broken skin—and carefully shifts Tetsurou’s head around in order to lick up the mess on the other side of his face.

“How are you feeling?” Kenma casually asks as he works.

“Tired, I suppose. My throat is a bit sore. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Maybe if you stopped focusing on the _little_ part and focused more on the _witch_ part…”

“Yes, yes,” Tetsurou sighs, indulgent, “you’re strong and powerful and possessive and I’m _yours_. I understand how you work now, _little_ witch.”

Kenma, shockingly, does not bite him nor verbally lash back out at him in retaliation. His head is ducked out of Tetsurou’s sight, but with a bit of wiggling and prodding, he manages to get Kenma to raise his head, if not make eye contact.

His cheeks are rosy. Tetsurou’s heart thuds in his chest.

“You’re too much,” they tell each other, at the same time. Tetsurou bursts out laughing whereas Kenma appears quietly horrified. Tetsurou continues, breathless and raspy, “You are hopelessly endearing, do you know that? And endlessly fun to torment.”

“Am not,” Kenma pouts.

Tetsurou opens his mouth to retort, but Kenma is quick to cover it with his hand, and then, his own mouth. The kiss is purposefully chaste, borderline sweet, and Tetsurou hums and lets Kenma win this. He appreciates the gesture.

“You taste like me, too,” Kenma murmurs against his lips, and nevermind, _not_ chaste despite the lack of tongue or movement against each other. “This is definitely something we’ll need to maintain.”

Heat spreads from Tetsurou’s face down his neck, and he worries about it trailing further south still. “Or,” he suggests, half curious and half desperate, “what if _you_ smell like _me_?”

Kenma stills against him. He blinks those large, captivating eyes, slowly, like a thoughtful cat. “…And who would even notice?”

“You,” Tetsurou replies. Kenma now squints at him, lips pursed in a pout again. “And Kou, and any other witches who decide to appear in our lives. Not that we need any more, but—this goes both ways, doesn’t it?”

Kenma doesn’t respond for a long time, long enough that Tetsurou begins to fear overstepping his bounds.

But once again, Kenma prevents him from speaking when he opens his mouth, this time with a gentle hand instead of another kiss. “Yes, it does, so don’t fret yourself into some tizzy. I’ve never had any human who dared propose something when they knew what I am, so it was just… surprising.”

“I didn’t offend your delicate sensibilities, did I?”

The way Kenma nips at his chin is decidedly _not_ delicate. Tetsurou rears back, tilting his head out of range, but Kenma just goes for his bared throat. After a warning press of teeth, he’s back to nosing at him with small brushes of lips and softer nuzzles. “Aren’t you afraid of me? You’re in a very fragile position right now,” Kenma points out.

“I’m afraid of offending you, as I’m afraid of offending the King, or getting thrown out a tower window. I’m afraid of a lot of things, some of them directly or indirectly involving you,” Tetsurou frankly replies. Though it’s subtle, he feels Kenma tense against him. “But I’m not going to hold my tongue because of it. How would I face my fears otherwise? I like you, and I want to learn to trust you. I hope you can do the same for me.”

Tetsurou cannot see his face, but Kenma is very still against him, and he has the suspicion that he is a charming shade of scarlet yet again. For as unflappable as he normally appears, it seems that once one knew how to approach certain topics, Kenma is actually very easy to fluster. But, from the sound of it, he hasn’t had much experience with this sort of relationship or banter, so Tetsurou will _greatly_ enjoy pressing his advantage while he has it.

“I suppose I could smell like you too,” Kenma finally mumbles, “and I suppose I like you, too. Your company is enjoyable, and I want more of it.”

“Just think of how Kou will react,” Tetsurou says again, and Kenma peers up at him with eagerness bright in his eyes. Tetsurou smiles down at him, then leans down, awkwardly, to place a quick kiss against the tip of his nose. Kenma sulks, and squirms downward until he’s out of range. “You know you want to win against him.” Even if he doesn’t understand how this is winning.

“I do,” Kenma cautiously replies.

“Then it’s settled. May I now _please_ get out of these clothes you’ve ruined for me?”

Kenma starts, apparently having _forgotten_ (because it’s not his pants sticking so very uncomfortably to him), and at least he has the decency within him to help Tetsurou strip. When they both lay back down upon the bed, it’s side by side, facing each other, and they’re both nude.

Neither move to sleep or nap or even rest; they stare at one another, Tetsurou with his cheek propped on one hand, Kenma with his big, unblinking eyes. Tetsurou finds himself getting lost in them when Kenma speaks up. “For dinner tonight, can I feed you?”

“Uh,” Tetsurou replies, eloquent as always.

“You said sharing food is a sign of affection. I want to be able to be seen in public with you, and keeping up appearances means picking up human mannerisms. You’ll teach me.”

Tetsurou doesn’t point out that Kenma hadn’t _asked_ , but (fondly) rolls his eyes anyway. “You know how to _eat_ , Kenma. You won’t ruin your cover with a dinner with us once in awhile.”

“With you,” Kenma corrects, sourly, and purposefully shoves his legs in with Tetsurou’s to tangle them. There is no blanket on this bed, but for the moment, Tetsurou doesn’t feel cold. He feels more comfortable with Kenma sharing his heat, however.

“I eat with Daichi, and Asahi,” Tetsurou says.

“I want private dinners with you.”

“A guard and an advisor would raise eyebrows.”

“Nothing others don’t already suspect,” Kenma flatly replies, and Tetsurou concedes the point to him. “I’m trying to show you affection, so just let me already. I’ll do what you like—stop being _stubborn_ about it.”

“ _I’m_ the stubborn one?” laughs Tetsurou. Kenma frowns. “Alright, alright, we can steal away _sometimes_ to spend time together that doesn’t involve you ruining my uniform. Does that make you happy?”

Kenma squints up at him, and asks, “Would that make _you_ happy?”

Tetsurou knows they’ll just go in circles at this rate. So he pulls Kenma against him, relishing in the warmth, and kisses the crown of his head. “Yes, that would, little witch. Very happy.”


End file.
